Charterstone
by KaleidescopeCat
Summary: This is the story of Kerrigor, the Breaking of the Great Charters, and the Abhorsen who tried to stop it.
1. Prologue

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

CHARTERSTONE

Prologue

***************

_Seven for seven,  
The Sleeper, The Waker,   
The Walker, The Speaker,   
The Thinker, The Binder,  
And last of all Weeper.   
_  
***************

"The Clayr have Seen you, Adiel, robed in the blue and silver of the Abhorsen, wielding the bells to bind the Dead and protect the Kingdom from harm. The Blood annoints you and welcomes you to walk beside Eimeth as Abhorsen-In Waiting." 

Red curls bowed before the Queen; the Wallmaker sword Uhnimel slid from the scabbard; and Adiel, Abhorsen-in-Waiting, raised the naked blade in high salute before all assembled, bowing deeply when they cheered. 

Eimeth, seated on the left of the Queen, nodded her head to her young cousin as his friends swallowed him in a laughing, chattering crowd, patting him on the back and shoulders. For a moment a swell of regret coursed through her. It should have been her own child standing on the dais recieving the bells and sword; yet there are some deaths that even an Abhorsen cannot prevent. And should not, for to stray down that path would be to ruin the balance between Life and Death. 

She wondered if Adiel would take to the craft as she had, completely plunging herself into the fight against the Dead with all her gusto, careless and headstrong, or if he would be more cautious and fearful, giving the Greater Dead the respect they deserved. She did not know her cousin well; he was much younger than her, nearly eighteen years, and she, of course, had been busy as Abhorsen for nearly all of his childhood. But the Clayr had Seen him, and he was quite a skilled Charter Mage, so Eimeth supposed that familiarity would come in time. 

Taking her eyes from Adiel, Eimeth stood and quietly stepped away from the thrones, fingering the bells at her chest. Their weight, as always, was comforting against her chest. The court milled around her, all their attention focused on the newly-appointed Abhorsen-in-Waiting, as she shouldered her way through the throng. 

In the annex to the Great Hall, she breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes and letting the breeze from the open doors wash over her. 

"Not a fan of crowds, Abhorsen?" said a soft voice next to her. 

"I find that a crowd of Life is little better than a crowd of Dead," replied Eimeth bluntly, opening her eyes. Despite her grim tone she smiled and embraced the owner of the voice. 

"Talis! I did not expect any of you to come!" She held the younger woman at arm's length and grinned happily. Talis returned the grin. 

"We could hardly miss the appointment of the newest Abhorsen, could we?" said Talis, leading the Abhorsen to the windows. They sat on the ledge and looked out over the bustling city of Belisaere below them. "It is an event of great magnitude, my dear cousin." She brushed a stray strand of blonde hair from her face and gently raised her cheeks to the salty breeze blowing from the nearby bay. 

"It is still a long way to come," said Eimeth gently. "But I thank you."

"I must admit, Eimeth, that it is not entirely for personal reasons," said Talis. "Our vision grows clouded of late, and we do not See as clearly or as often as we would like. And what we do see is not pleasant, not at all."

"What do you see?" whispered Eimeth, her mouth going dry. 

"Ah, if I could make sense of it, I would tell you," replied Talis, smiling again but with no happiness this time, "so let it suffice to say that should this future come to pass, the Kingdom will be shattered."

"Have you told the Queen?"

"I have, and she refuses to listen. She says that if we cannot offer her concrete details, only vague warnings, then she will not act upon it."

"Do you know any concrete details?" asked Eimeth. She followed Talis' gaze to the young Prince, Rogir, standing at the foot of the throne, and glanced sharply at the Clayr when Talis shuddered suddenly. 

"I only know that it will be a few years yet," said Talis with certainty. "Because when what we see comes to pass, his young Highness is a full grown man... and your Adiel is at his side."

She gazed up, blue eyes into Eimeth's black, and shook her head. "What does this mean, Talis?" asked the Abhorsen, fearing that she knew the answer already. "Will they drive the darkness away?"

"We do not know," said Talis, and for a moment she looked far older than she was. "But we fear that you, at least, will not find out." She reached her arms out and embraced the older woman, shoulders shaking. 

Eimeth closed her eyes; though she had expected this answer, she did not like it any better. "Then I must train Adiel as well as I can," she said. "And we must begin at once." Though Talis did not see it, her fingers touched the bells at her chest, and rested finally on Astarael, the bell which cast all who heard it deeply into Death. The Weeper, the greatest and most terrible of all the bells; she had never heard the Weeper's voice, though she knew all things eventually must follow Astarael's call. 

"We must begin at once," she said again, looking at her young cousin and suddenly shivering under this great weight that had so suddenly landed on her shoulders. "I have prepared him somewhat already, to properly ring the bells and cast the necessary Charter Marks to travel through Death. He has read the Book of the Dead, although that is a book that one never truly finishes."

"I know that he will be ready to face what we See," said Talis. "You will make sure of it." 

Eimeth gazed through the doors, where the crowd still mingled, talking and laughing with excitement, and met the eyes of the new Abhorsen-in-Waiting for a second. He smiled and nodded, and then a knot of people moved in front of him once more. 

"He will be ready," said Eimeth. "We will be ready."

**************** 


	2. Abhorsen's House

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter One

Abhorsen's House

******************

_The Queen sits in Belisaere  
The Clayr live in their Glacier  
The Wallmakers hold up the Stones and the Wall  
And the Abhorsen protects from the Dead.  
_  
******************  
  
Eimeth sat in her study and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Sometimes she would simply like a bit of quiet, she reflected, an hour or so of peace and above all, silence. 

During her grandfather Taliel's tenure as Abhorsen, only he had lived in the House. His children, none of whom showed talent for the Charter Magic and bellwork of the Abhorsen's office, had all relocated to other, more stimulating parts of the Kingdom. But Eimeth's mother, when Taliel had died, had insisted on being allowed to stay and help her only daughter with the housework and little things that the Abhorsen did not need to think upon. Never mind the sendings that littered the place, all too eager to do what needed to be done. Only a mother's touch would suffice. 

This of course had led to two of her brothers and their children moving in as well over the years, plus an aunt and an elderly great-uncle, and since Adiel's inception they had all become particularly resistant to relocation. The formerly quiet refuge of the Abhorsen had become a noisy inn, Eimeth mused in annoyance. 

"Kalo, theit, mueh," she muttered, tasting the tang of the Charter at the tip of her tongue. The chattering from the music room faded and she sighed in relief. 

"That's better," she said out loud, sinking back into her favorite chair. She was getting too old for all this fighting and necromancy. But, came the bitter thought from deep within her mind, it's not as if it will last much longer anyway. 

With another sigh she stood up from the chair and looked at the map of the Old Kingdom on the wall. She had sent Adiel to deal with the petty uprising of a minor necromancer in Calibe; easy enough for the zealous young man to deal with. He was not expected back for a few weeks, though, since he had stated a desire to visit the royal family in Belisaere after his task was completed. 

Even her spell could not keep the noise from the lower levels out. Eimeth growled in exasperation and doublebarred the window, though she was not sure if this helped or not. 

"Ever the people person, eh, Abhorsen?" 

"Mogget, how did you get in here?" snapped Eimeth, whirling around. "I sealed all the doors a few moments ago." Mogget met her angry gaze with placid cat-eyes, not at all intimidated by her stern tone.

"I was already here," the little white cat replied smugly. "I merely chose to stay silent until I felt you needed someone to talk to."

"And why did you feel I needed someone to talk to?" spat Eimeth. Of all the denizens of Abhorsen's House, she liked Mogget the least. If his peculiar mix of skill and advice had not come in useful on prior occasions, she would have followed the example of her ancestor Kalliel and locked him up, away from all contact. 

"You are worried," said Mogget plainly. "Not that it really concerns me, of course, Abhorsen" --he sounded particularly sarcastic this evening, thought Eimeth-- "but I have noticed that you have been gone with increasing frequency these past few months."

"Yes," said Eimeth, sitting back down heavily. The chair held her weight comfortably, conforming to her familiar contours. "Yes. There is something summoning more and more Dead. Villages are being attacked. People are dying. There have even been refugees fleeing across the Wall to Ancelstierre."

"Something big is coming," said Mogget solemnly. He flopped down on the floor in front of her, legs akimbo, and somehow managed to look dignified despite the utterly ridiculous position. "The Clayr told you as much, didn't they?"

"Their vision is clouded. They have seen nothing at all for three weeks now," said Eimeth. "That in itself is something to note, but the Queen seems completely oblivious to any threat. The only sane person in that palace seems to be Rogirek, the Crown Prince."

Mogget sat up suddenly. "Really? Rogirek?"

"He is quite an accomplished Charter Mage, as Adiel tells me," Eimeth said, unnerved at the cat's sudden interest. "And he takes the warnings of the Clayr seriously, though he apparently cannot do much to influence his mother."

"The Blood grows thin," muttered Mogget. "Pity. They used to be one of the less stupid families among you."

Eimeth frowned. "I dare say that was a compliment," she said. "Wrapped inside an insult."

"I am slipping in my old age, then," retorted Mogget. "So what are you going to do about it?" The miniature Saraneth at his throat tinkled gently as he flopped back onto the floor. 

"What can I do but try to combat the greater numbers of Dead?" said Eimeth wearily. "That is the Abhorsen's task."

Mogget snorted. "You are as stupid as all of your ancestors, Abhorsen," and the title came out in a highly sarcastic tone. Eimeth stood up. 

"Do you have a better suggestion?" she spat out, grimly musing that Kalliel's binding-spell was looking better and better. 

"As a matter of fact I do," said Mogget delicately, idly examining his claws. "The Clayr See nothing, correct?"

"Correct," said Eimeth, sitting forward in her chair. 

"Then what you need is something in which to See for yourself." Mogget jumped up and twined around her ankles. "For example... a mirror?"

"Dyrim's Mirror?" said Eimeth. "That has been lost to time. If indeed it ever existed in the first place."

"The Clayr's library could tell you where it is," said Mogget. "Though I doubt that they would know where in the library to look. But it would be a start."

"Why are you so helpful all of a sudden?" Eimeth asked. 

The little cat smiled, or at least made what passed for a smile on his feline face. "I am the servant of Abhorsen," he said. "And there are grave tidings on the wind. I can smell something rising, something dark and dangerous... something Dead."

The Charter-lights around the room flickered and sputtered; Eimeth could no longer hear a single word from the lower levels, and shuddered. "Why do I need a mirror when I have a Mogget?" she joked, but it fell flat, and the little cat did not respond. Sighing, she picked up the bell bandolier from the desk and strapped her sword at her side. With a whistle she extinguished the Charter-lights and unlocked the door-spells, and trotted down the stairs, Mogget whisking around her feet. 

She did not bother to tell the other occupants of the House where she was going; they would hardly notice her absence. "I'll grant you this, Abhorsen," said Mogget, "when you decide to do something you do not beat around the bush."

"Another compliment, servant?" she replied idly as she packed a change of clothes and some food and water into a rucksack. "What has come over you of late?"

Mogget merely purred. She slipped her mailcoat on, and then the blue and silver surcoat, emblazoned with silver keys, as the sendings examined her pack and slipped several more things into it. Eimeth did not bother to stop them; she had found over the years that they did a much better job of packing than any Abhorsen ever would. The little cat followed her out into the grounds and over to the Paperwing shed, and to her surprise hopped into the craft as she wheeled it out onto the pavilion. 

"Are you coming too?" Eimeth said in surprise. "You've never left the house before."

"You'll need someone with their wits about them," said Mogget, his voice muffled. Eimeth heard rustling and then a plop as the cat settled himself into a comfortable position. 

"I expect I shall, at that," said Eimeth softly. She lowered herself into the Paperwing and whistled the wind-spells to lift it from the ground. With a bump and a swoosh they were aloft. Testing the wind, she turned north towards the Clayr's glacier. 

It was not until several hours into the flight that she felt the presence of the Gore Crow behind her, its Dead spirit niggling at the edges of her consciousness. "Someone is following us," she said, the wind whipping at her hair. 

The Gore Crow squawked and drew closer. Hastily whistling a spell, Eimeth freed her hands and clumsily drew out the bells from the bandolier. Saraneth first, swinging in a complicated two-four pattern, and then, when the Crow's spirit had been dominated by her will, Kibeth to bring it to her and Dyrim to make it speak. "Whose servant are you?" she cried over the noise of the wind. The rushing of the river of Death flowed in her ear; Adiel would have needed to go directly into it to work this spell. But Eimeth had been doing this for twenty-four years, and had picked up a few tricks along the way. 

_The necromancer sent me,_ said the Crow's spirit into her mind, chafing under Saraneth's binding. 

"What? The one from Calibe?"

_The necromancer,_ said the Crow again. _The greatest of all._

And suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the Crow burst into flames and its spirit catapulted into Death, traveling the Gates so quickly that Eimeth had no time to react. 

"I do not think it is the one from Calibe," said Mogget from behind her. 

"Nor do I," Eimeth replied, steering the Paperwing due north. "I think we are dealing with something far more dangerous than a mere petty necromancer."

She tasted the acrid tang of Free Magic from the Gore Crow in the air, and summoned a stronger wind to carry her north to the Clayr's glacier. North... to answers. 

****************

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. The Librarians

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter Two

The Librarians

*****************

_In the ice visions flicker  
Of paths to wander, on and on  
Speak the future, voice of the Clayr  
Speak the future and tell me my path.   
_  
*****************

"You were attacked? By who? How?" Talis cried, as they walked down the stairs and Eimeth informed her of the Gore Crow's sudden combustion. 

"That is what I am trying to find out," she said wearily. "I need to search the Library for anything about Dyrim's Mirror. Hopefully I, or one of you, can look in and See what this threat that looms over us all really is." 

"I didn't think that really existed," said Talis. "I have only heard the faintest of tales about it; really, it's got none for itself, just the odd mention in writings of the Beginning and the Nine Bright Shiners and all that."

"I have really nowhere else to turn," said Eimeth. "It is either try to find out something on my own or wait until this necromancer sends another attack against me. And...well, you know what that might mean."

Talis blinked. "Of course. I will assign one of the librarians to assist you, Eimeth. But be warned, because there may be nothing there at all that can tell you where Dyrim's Mirror is."

"I can do nothing but try," said Eimeth. She could hear Mogget snickering at her from inside her pack, so she bounced it up and down until the laughter stopped. 

"That was quite unnecessary, Abhorsen," spat Mogget, clawing his way out and perching on her shoulder. 

"I thought you were asleep," replied Eimeth coolly. "We are going to the Library now, cat, so look sharp." Talis watched them both with wide eyes; though she had been to Abhorsen's House on several occasions, she had only heard of the Abhorsens' bizarre servant and never actually met him. Eimeth had to give her credit for not making a fuss about the sarcastic little fuzzball.

And if Mogget knew she thought of him that way, he would scratch her fiercely, she thought with a grin as she followed Talis down the stairs and through several old wooden doors. An elderly, stern-faced Librarian met them at the head of the stairs. "I understand you seek the mirror of Dyrim," she said, her ancient voice cracking. 

Eimeth recognized the Wallmaker's sword Binder hanging at the side of the ancient woman; the Chief Librarian hardly looked strong enough to lift it, much less use it. Yet she did not doubt the old woman's strength when they tested each other's Charter Marks, as was proper introduction between members of the Blood. The fire in the Mark nearly burned her fingers, and it was all she could do not to snatch them away. 

"May I introduce you to Chief Librarian Yirae, Abhorsen," said Talis firmly. The Chief Librarian looked Eimeth up and down once, eyes resting briefly on Mogget, and then turned on her heel and strode down the great spiral staircase. 

"I do not know if what you seek can be found in this Library," said Yirae over her shoulder. "A good place to start would be the First Records. Therein lie the earliest tales of the Nine Bright Shiners, and though we have lost much of that ancient knowledge, what little there is may be of help to you."

"Thank you, Chief Librarian," said the Abhorsen. 

Yirae nodded once, and left the room abruptly, without another word. "The sendings will assist you if you need anything," said Talis. "Just call."

Eimeth nodded to her, and sat down as Talis followed the Chief Librarian out. A bundle of scrolls, heavily spelled to prevent decay, already awaited her on the desk. "Well," said Mogget, "I see that this will take rather a long time."

"So you're a Clayr now, too?" asked Eimeth absently, skimming the top of the pile. "It will take less time, servant" --Mogget's fur bristled at her sarcastic use of the word-- "if you assist me and tell me if you find anything that might be useful. You may assume your other form for this task, since I doubt the Clayr wish their manuscripts to be damaged by idle claws."

"Very well, mistress," said Mogget, matching her sarcasm bit for bit. He jumped lightly off of her shoulder onto the floor, changing into the albino dwarf as he went. Taking the second scroll from the pile, he lay stomach down on the floor and began to read. 

It was slow work. Very little about the individual Seven was recorded; only their creation of the Charter seemed to merit any notice. Neither Eimeth nor Mogget had found anything useful in almost two hours of searching, when suddenly Mogget's head pricked up and he began to read out loud. 

"_The origins of the Nine are shrouded in mystery_," he read. "_Yet their characters at the time of the Creation of the Charter are remembered still, and much can be found on the subject_" --both Eimeth and Mogget snorted at that-- "_the summation of which follows_. Hmm..._Ranna was a quiet and peaceful individual, able to calm the wildest of hearts...spirit of tranquility_..._ Mosrael... powerful, raised the Dead back to a semblance of life.. Kibeth... roamed the Kingdom, never still for a moment..._ No, we aren't looking for Ranna, Mosrael, or Kibeth... there we are, Dyrim. _Dyrim, the third of the Nine, supplies a part of the power of the Clayr, for he makes the future clear to those who inherit his power. Though the power of the Clayr lies in their blood, Dyrim used material objects and spells to See rather than pure natural ability, though he did possess a great inherent aptitude for this type of magic. The greatest of these tools is the Mirror. Legend speaks of the Mirror with awe, for it could See the future, the past, and the present, as well as into the hearts of men. With this mirror the wielder can know the greatest and the foulest imaginings within a single mind. The mirror amplified Dyrim's greatest power--the ability to know a person, to make their soul open to him -truly the hearts of men spoke to him and told him all their secrets."_

Mogget stopped reading and looked up at Eimeth. "Does it say where the mirror is hidden?" she asked. 

"No, it does not," replied Mogget. Carefully he flipped through the pages of the book, skimming the further sections about the Nine. Eimeth tensed slightly as he reached the Eighth, but the little albino gave it hardly a glance. "It does not say, Abhorsen, but there is a map drawn on the very last page. And there are markings all over it, with the names of the Nine where they lay in rest. I would surmise that the mirror resides with Dyrim, in the mountains a few leagues north of this glacier."

Eimeth took the book and skimmed the map. "That is not far from here, by Paperwing. But I expect that it will be difficult getting into Dyrim's resting place."

"I expect it will," said Mogget. "It might be advantageous to bring help." He was a cat again; Eimeth had not seen him change. She followed his gaze to the door and saw a young girl standing there, not blonde and blue-eyed like the rest of the Clayr but black-haired like Eimeth herself. 

"And who are you?" said Eimeth coolly, beckoning her to enter. 

The girl's cheeks reddened, but her steps did not falter. She bowed slightly, and Eimeth returned the courtesy with a nod of her head. "I am Mirel, Abhorsen. Your niece, by Marita and Kadel."

"Ah. You've gotten much bigger since the last time I saw you," said Eimeth, closing the book and standing up. In truth she did not remember this Mirel. Kadel was her third brother, who had disdained to live in Abhorsen's House, and she did not keep in touch as well as she ought to. "Are you fostering here?"

"Yes, me and my brother Thadiran," replied Mirel. "One of the Paperwing Flight told me you were here. I doubt she guessed that I didn't really know you. But I wanted to meet you anyway."

Eimeth looked at Mogget. Help? she mouthed silently. The girl caught her words and flushed red again. 

"Well, it is nice to meet you," said Eimeth, collecting her bells from the table and patting Mirel on the shoulder. As she approached the girl, she glanced at her, their eyes meeting for a moment. Eimeth stopped, her mouth dropping open. 

"What is it, Abhorsen?" said Mirel sharply. 

"You look very like... like someone I used to know," said Eimeth. She shook her head and brushed past the girl.

"Like Tallie?" said Mirel softly. Eimeth turned around and stared at her. 

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Who told you that?"

"Grandmother," said Mirel. "She visits us often. I think she gets tired of the House. She says that both Tallie and I look like her mother, your grandmother."

"She would be older than you," said Eimeth. "But she never even reached the age you are now." And this, Eimeth felt, was too much to say to a niece that she did not even remember meeting before. How curious that two girls should look so very much alike, but have such different paths in life. Mirel would grow up a spoiled Blood, she thought, like the rest of them, while her Tallie, her Taliel, named for the Abhorsen before Eimeth, never would grow up at all.   
Mogget hopped onto her shoulder, and she realized then that she was gripping the door handle so hard that her knuckles had turned white. "Calm down," he said. 

"Ah... the Wallmaker relict," said Mirel. She was not so very young, Eimeth realized. Seventeen or eighteen. Only a few years younger than Adiel. "Father said it wasn't supposed to leave the House."

"Try telling him that," said Eimeth, striding out of the room. To her dismay, Mirel followed her. 

"Does it have a name?" she asked, easily matching Eimeth pace for pace. 

"It does. It is Mogget," said Mogget nastily, "and IT does not appreciate being referred to as if IT is not here."

"I'm sorry," said Mirel. "I never met a bound spirit before." The ensuing glare from both Mogget and Eimeth was enough to chasten her, and she fell silent, but it was not enough to frighten her away from them. 

She followed Eimeth and Mogget out into the Library proper, shadowing them as Eimeth spoke to one of the Deputy Librarians about taking the book about the Nine, and then trailed them all the way up to the Starmount Gate. "I can help you," said Mirel at last. 

"You don't even know what it is I am doing," snapped Eimeth, her patience sorely tried by now. 

"I heard enough. You are going after Dyrim's Mirror, aren't you?" said Mirel. "I've been to the cave. Never inside, but I know where it is." She shuddered suddenly. "You can feel...something...from all the way out on the cliffs below it."

"It will be easier to find, mistress," said Mogget from within the pack. His muffled voice was almost drowned out by the chill wind blowing across the terrace. "I don't want to spend any more time in this cold than I have to."

Eimeth looked out at the white cliffs, and patted the book in her satchel. After a long moment she sighed. "Very well. Get your flying gear and you can show me where this cave is. But you will stay outside with the Paperwing and come nowhere near the actual interior."

Mirel dashed off and was back in a surprisingly short time. "I left a note for the Guardian of the Young, too. So they don't wonder where I am." She scrambled into the Paperwing behind Eimeth, and clutched Mogget on her lap as Eimeth whistled the spells to lift them off the ground. 

She hadn't been lying, Eimeth realized, because as they drew closer and closer to the cave, she could feel--to use the girl's own word--_something _in the mountains below. At last Mirel pointed downwards, to a gaping black hole atop a seventy-foot cliff. There was just enough room outside the entrance for the Paperwing to land, though cutting it so close made Eimeth uneasy. 

"Now stay here," she ordered the girl. "Do not leave the Paperwing." Mirel nodded, looking rather unhappy, but she did not protest. And so Eimeth and Mogget warily sidled into the cave, bells and claws at the ready. 

They had not gone in five steps before Eimeth smelled the acrid tang of Free Magic in the air, and all the light blacked out around them. Then the familiar feel of the Charter wrapped around her consciousness, and a light, far in the corner, beckoned them to come. Disobeying her command to stay put, her feet began to move forward towards the light. The feeling of the presence she had felt before grew stronger and stronger, until finally she could move no farther and fell to her knees. 

"I think we found him," said Mogget. 

**************** 


	4. The Speaker

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter Three

The Speaker

*******************

_Wake the walkers and give them breath  
Before you send them back to Death.   
_  
*******************

"Dyrim!" cried Eimeth as the light brightened. She put up a hand to shield her eyes, and heard Mogget hiss at something. "Dyrim, I am the Abhorsen Eimeth. I wish to speak with you."

"He says, then speak," whispered Mogget, leaping onto her shoulder. She winced as he found a grip, his claws digging right through her heavy flying coat. "So speak, Abhorsen!"

"Your children can See no longer," said Eimeth to the light. "The Clayr's sight is blocked by some new evil, reputedly the greatest necromancer of all. We need to find your Mirror, Dyrim, so that we may See this evil and stop it."

"You cannot stop it," said Mogget, but his voice was not his own. The cat jumped gracefully from her shoulder onto the floor in front of her, and changed as he went. The light dimmed until Eimeth could see again. 

"Mogget?" she said, curiously putting out a hand to touch him. The albino dwarf's skin sparkled with Charter Marks, and he recoiled as her fingers brushed his hand. 

"Not Mogget," he said, and his voice was not his own. 

Eimeth settled back on her heels and folded her hands across her chests, the fingers of her right hand drooping just over Saraneth. Mogget, or what was inhabiting Mogget, laughed coldly. 

"Do not worry, Abhorsen. The Eighth stays bound. But the Speaker has lost his voice."

Eimeth nodded but did not move her hand. "Where can we find the mirror?" she asked firmly. 

"You cannot," said Dyrim. "It no longer exists. It was broken long ago and only shards remain." He turned around, back to Eimeth, and whistled one pure note, the very same pitch as the bell that bore his name. A light shone in the corner, a sharp flare like lightning that was gone in a second. "There is a shard. It is the only one I still possess. All the rest have been taken, stolen away while I slept."

Carefully Eimeth stood up, her hand never straying from the bandolier, and strode over to the corner. A shard of glass lay on the floor. When she touched it, Free Magic buzzed through her fingers like electricity. "Take it," said Dyrim harshly. "The Blood will work it for you." 

"Who has taken the other shards?" she asked, wrapping the piece in her scarf. A corner piece, she saw, with two straight edges and one sharp, curving one. 

Dyrim did not answer. When Eimeth turned back to him, a pair of gleaming cat's eyes met her gaze. "He is gone," said Mogget, sounding strangely hoarse. "Back to sleep as he has slept for a thousand years."

"That was easier than I thought it would be," said Eimeth. "How do we get out of here?" 

She whistled a Charterspell, and a glowing globe of light flared into being above her head. "There is no way out," said Mogget uneasily. 

"Where did we come in?" Eimeth asked, swinging her gaze round the smooth, continuous cave wall. No opening could be seen. She ran up to the wall where she thought the entrance had been and pounded on it without success. "Mogget! We are trapped!"

"It seems Dyrim is determined not to make it easy after all," spat Mogget, twining around her legs. Eimeth ignored him and cast a spell to crumble the wall of the cave in front of her. A low rumbling answered, the floor shaking beneath their feet, but no egress appeared. Hurriedly she sang the counterspell, but the rumbling did not stop. A boulder crashed to the floor behind them, and a startled cry erupted from Eimeth's throat before she could stop it. 

"I hope Adiel does not mind not having a servant," growled Mogget acidly. "Whose plan was this?"

"It was your idea, cat!" said Eimeth. Another boulder crashed in front of them, sending chips of rock hurtling through the air. One sliced her cheek, and she felt the blood run down her chin. The Clayr had not Seen her as Abhorsen when the trouble came...

"Just because they did not See you does not mean you will not be there!" screeched Mogget, correctly interpreting her terrified expression, his claws scrabbling against the rock as he fought to stay on his feet. The shaking redoubled, and Eimeth scooped the little cat from the floor. 

"Abhorsen!" cried a voice. Mogget clawed his way onto her shoulder and cried, "This way, Abhorsen!" 

Eimeth turned and saw a tunnel stretching away into the rock, with a tiny figure silhouetted in the daylight at the end. She hastily set Mogget down and dashed up the tunnel. "Did we come in this far?" she asked. 

"Don't talk, run!" was his only reply. Mirel caught her as she burst out of the cave and skidded on the slippery snow. 

"What happened?" the girl cried. Eimeth did not respond, just threw her bandolier into the Paperwing and hustled Mirel into the cockpit. She jumped in herself and whistled the wind marks, and they were airborne just as the entire cliff face caved in behind them. 

"By the Charter!" gasped Mirel, looking over her shoulder. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. I think he meant to keep us there," said Eimeth shortly. "He would have, too, if you had not opened the tunnel."

"Did you get the mirror?"

"Only a piece of it. It broke, apparently, sometime long ago." 

"And the other pieces are missing," said Mogget. "That is a very powerful tool that has been stolen. Even if there are only shards left." 

"Do you think that whoever stole them could use the mirror to block the Clayr's sight?" asked Mirel, half-shouting as the wind picked up suddenly. Eimeth turned around and stared at the girl. 

"Why do you ask?" 

"Well, like Mogget said, it is a very powerful tool. For something used by one of the Seven themselves, it would have to be. Couldn't the Charterspells be turned back against the Clayr, to block their Seeing?"

"And who would want to do that?" asked Eimeth, already knowing the answer she wanted. She was quickly changing her prior opinion of Mirel; rather than being a spoiled young Blood, the girl was level-headed and intelligent, and quick to grasp a situation. 

"The necromancer you spoke of. The great evil that the Clayr Saw before they could See no more," Mirel answered. 

"Indeed," said Eimeth, smiling as she faced forward once more, though she felt that in truth there was very little to smile about. "Very good, child." She whistled, and the winds shifted slightly, pulling them south once more. 

They touched down on the terrace just as the sun dropped fully behind the jagged mountains to the west. Mirel, still clutching Mogget, hopped out first, and put out her hand to help Eimeth climb down. Talis and several other Clayr were standing at the Starmount Gate, lips blue and teeth chattering. "You should have told us where you were going," the Clayr said as Eimeth strode up to them. "We could have helped. Sent some of the Guard with you."

"I did not want to wait," Eimeth replied. "Besides, I had all the help I needed." She gestured to Mirel, standing slightly behind her. "She proved quite useful."

"Did you get the mirror?" asked one of the other Clayr. 

"A shard, nothing more. But perhaps it will be enough." She drew it out of her pocket and held it out to Talis. "The Blood should awaken it."

With a glance at her fellows, Talis ran her finger along the sharp edge of the shard, inhaling sharply as bright red blood stained the glass and dripped onto the snow. Eimeth pricked her finger on her sword and added a droplet of her own blood, and they all watched in silence as the red spread over the surface like oil over water. 

"What would you will me to See, Abhorsen?" said Talis softly. 

"Our enemy, of course. What else?" said Eimeth sharply. She felt Mogget's weight on her shoulder and absently ruffled his fur. 

Talis stared deep into the mirror, brow furrowed in concentration, and finally shook her head. "I can See nothing," she said wearily. "It is simply blank, a red-washed image of us and nothing else."

"Really?" asked Mirel, so suddenly that all of them jumped. "You didn't see the Prince?"

"You saw something?" asked Eimeth. She took the mirror shard from Talis and handed it to Mirel. "Then look, child, and tell us what you see."

Mirel glanced up at the Abhorsen and the Clayr, mouth slightly agape. "None of you saw anything?" 

"We did not, child, so look!" snapped one of the other Clayr. Mirel swallowed nervously and studied the mirror. The glow from the Charterlights reflected onto her face, giving it a curiously red cast. On her forehead, half hidden by stray hairs, the Charter Mark shone silver. 

For ten long minutes Mirel watched the mirror, her eyes tracking images that no one else could see. Eimeth herself peeked over the girl's shoulder and looked intently, but all she saw was Mirel's face, red with the blood that covered the surface. And then, suddenly, Mirel sighed and dropped the shard, and stared ahead with blank eyes. 

"What did you see?" cried Eimeth, shaking her by the shoulder. The girl jerked, and looked up at the Abhorsen with fear shining in her black eyes. Eimeth, inexplicably, was struck again by how very much Mirel looked like Tallie, and she backed away before she could help it. 

"I Saw..." Mirel licked her lips and looked up at the sky, where the first twinkling stars peeked out in the endless heavens. "I Saw myself and Adiel, and we fought, and I fell from my horse. I think I passed the Ninth Gate, because all I saw were stars, stretching away forever and forever... And then the princes, Rogir and the other one, Torrigan I think he is called, the one that is not really a prince in truth. They fought as well, on the steps of the Palace in Belisaere, down where the Great Charterstones are... I saw Adiel's ceremony, when he became Abhorsen in waiting, and I saw myself again, with the bells." Her voice cracked, and Eimeth put a hand out on her shoulder. Mirel met her eyes for an instant and then continued on. "I think I saw many things. But I cannot remember them all. It was all just snatches and wisps, and some I know were in the past and some must be in the future." She sagged against Eimeth, who put her arm under the girl's shoulders and held her up. 

"Then who is our enemy?" said Talis softly. "Torrigan? Or Adiel? Or Rogir? Or none of them?" She met the Abhorsen's gaze and held it for a long moment. "I wish the Queen heeded us better, that we might have a chance of stopping this."

"We have a chance," said Eimeth firmly. "We may not have all the answers yet, but we have a chance." She pulled Mirel up and led her inside, noticing suddenly that the girl's lips were blue with cold, and that the Clayr looked little better. She had not noticed the cold herself, but then, the river of Death was far colder. 

As they walked down the long stairway to the dormitories, Mirel barely staying awake, Eimeth did not listen to the chatter of the Clayr around her. Mirel's description of her visions stuck in her mind, playing over and over again. Something struck her as odd, something that she doubted any of the others had noticed, and she could not help but dwell on it. 

How curious, it was, that Mirel should see herself dying in an accidental fall from her horse on a ride with her cousin Adiel, when Eimeth's own daughter had died in just that way. How very curious indeed. 

**************** 


	5. Blood and Glass

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them.

*****************

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter 5

Blood and Glass

*****************  
  
_The dead do not stay dead,  
And a sad tale it is,  
But sadder still is this  
When the living do not live._

*****************

Eimeth spent a sleepless night in one of the well-furnished guest rooms of the Clayr. Despite her long and tiring day, sleep refused to come, and so she tossed and turned in the darkness. Mogget's earnest cat-snores from the armchair in the corner did not help much. 

Once, she got up and tried the mirror shard again, pricking four fingers and even slicing down her palm with the edge. All she gained was a painful scratch and sore fingertips, and a stain on the carpet. For all her strength as an Abhorsen, she saw nothing at all. 

And there was so much she wanted to see. Mirel's words echoed in her head: "_I Saw myself and Adiel, and we fought, and I fell from my horse. I think I passed the Ninth Gate..."_ Surely it could not be coincidence that Mirel would see herself dying in exactly the same way. Could Adiel have killed Tallie and plan to kill Mirel, too? Why, though, would a young cousin who fostered with the Clayr be a threat to him?

Unless Mirel had not seen herself, but Tallie...! 

She went back to bed then, and when the first light of dawn crept through her window rose and dressed in silence. Mogget, stretched out on his back with all four paws splayed in the air, did not wake as she slipped out of the room and down to the dormitories where Mirel slept. 

  
The girl was already awake, sitting up in bed with her head on her knees. She did not pay any attention to the other three occupants of her room, all blonde and dark-skinned Clayr, as they murmured and snored in the last remnants of sleep before it was time to wake up for the day. "Mirel," said Eimeth. At her soft call, Mirel's head darted up, her entire body tensed, and then let out a long, weary sigh when she saw the Abhorsen standing there. 

"I couldn't sleep," said Mirel quietly, swinging her knees out from under the blankets. "Rather...er... disturbing dreams." She took a pile of clothes from the dresser beside her bed and slipped them on over the undergarments that she had been sleeping in. 

"Neither could I," said Eimeth. "Disturbing thoughts, in my case. There was no chance of dreams, for I did not even fall asleep."

Mirel smiled and came out into the corridor with the Abhorsen. Eimeth nodded in the direction of the kitchens; the smell of sausage and eggs and tea had already reached her nose as it wafted down the hallways. "You did very well yesterday," Eimeth said. "Not many girls your age would have dealt so courageously with the things you saw in the mirror."

"Thank you, Abhorsen," said Mirel. 

"I must ask you if you think you are strong enough to try it again," said Eimeth. 

Mirel swallowed convulsively and did not answer. 

"There is something threatening this land, something that may have the other shards of the mirror. I believe there may be a spell that has been placed upon it to prevent any of the Clayr or myself from using the shard to See," Eimeth continued. "But I doubt they took a young niece of the Abhorsen into account; I think that is why you can See in it and no one else could."

She stopped and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, looking directly into Mirel's eyes. "I need your help, for something so powerful as to blind the Clayr is something powerful indeed."

"I think... I think I am afraid of doing it again," said Mirel slowly. Eimeth's shoulders sagged and she let out a long sigh. But just as she was about to speak Mirel went on. "But I will do it again, because it must be done and it must be stopped." 

"I was hoping you would say that," said Eimeth. "Very good. I think I will take you with me, then, when I go back to my House." Mirel nodded, glancing about her. 

"I would like that, Abhorsen," she said. 

"Very well, then. We shall leave within the hour," said Eimeth. 

***************** 

The Paperwing arrived at Abhorsen's House as the sun reached its zenith; the winds from the north had been favorable for travel and carried the travelers with great speed over the Old Kingdom. 

Mirel sighed behind the Abhorsen as they spiraled once and then began the long descent toward the little island tucked snug atop the waterfall. "It's very beautiful up here," she said, half-shouting so her voice would carry over the wind. Eimeth nodded.

"That it is," she shouted back. "I always loved flying, ever since I was a very little girl."

She did not catch Mirel's answer as they skidded down onto the Paperwing terrace. Mogget leapt out as soon as the craft stopped, and scampered away into the bushes, hissing at the sendings who hurried forward, ready to help Eimeth from the Paperwing and take Mirel's pack. 

"Have you ever been here before?" asked Eimeth as she freed herself from the sendings' grasp. "I know I do not take so kindly to visitors that they come very often."

Mirel blushed slightly. "But Abhorsen, you are not here very often, are you? I have been here many times, but I have never met you before."

Eimeth smiled. "I know. My daughter used to complain that I was never there unless she wanted me gone. Usually she was getting into mischief at that point."

The girl laughed. "Oh, I can believe that. I've heard stories!" 

"Ah, but I suppose I was the same way, always getting into scrapes when I was your age," said Eimeth, fondly recalling some narrow escapes and near misses. "It's the way of youth, I suppose."

"I suppose," replied Mirel. "I never get in much trouble myself." She hefted her pack over her shoulder and walked toward the house. Eimeth frowned. She stood for a moment longer, wheeling the Paperwing into the shed with the help of the sendings, and pulled her own knapsack free of the securing straps.   
  
As she neared the house, she heard voices: Mirel's and her mother's, the former quietly explaining and the latter loudly questioning. In spite of herself Eimeth smiled, knowing that although her mother was more than a little deaf, the old woman refused to believe it. The younger generations had simply all developed the nasty habit of mumbling every word they spoke, such a pity, of course. 

"And what do you think you are doing, daughter, simply kidnapping a young girl from her fosterage? Do her parents know?" cried her mother when she spotted the Abhorsen striding across the grass. 

"I believe Kadel finds me a competent adult and more than capable of keeping one young girl out of danger," said Eimeth stiffly. "And no, I have not let him know that I have his daughter. I will send a messagehawk as soon as I can."

The old woman opened her mouth, and with a sudden foreboding worthy of the Clayr Eimeth _knew_ what was coming. "I assure you, I will take far greater care of her than I will myself, Mother, no matter where we go!" _Mention Tallie and you are out, blood be damned, old witch!_

Mirel looked from adult to adult, biting her lip, obviously bewildered at the enmity between mother and daughter. 

"Speaking of messagehawks," said her mother acidly in her too-loud voice, "one came from Adiel. The message is in your study. One of the sendings transcribed it."

Eimeth nodded curtly and swept past her mother into the house. "Excuse me, grandmother," she heard Mirel say, and then heard the girl's footsteps padding after her. 

"What was that about?" said the girl, puffing up the stairs behind the Abhorsen. Eimeth did not answer her out loud. __

She thinks it was my fault Tallie died. That if I had been home, like a proper mother, I could have gone into Death and saved her. 

And Eimeth could not, would not, admit that privately she shared her mother's opinion. As an Abhorsen, she knew losses were part of the job. And that if she had been able to save her daughter, it would have been going against the code of the Abhorsens; put to rest, not awaken. 

As a mother, she could and did blame herself, when she could have done something had she only been there. No parent should outlive their child, ever. 

But she would never say that to anyone, least of all a niece she had only met a few days ago, who looked so like her daughter that it was misery itself to meet Mirel's eyes. 

The message lay in the center of her desk, written in the clumsy hand of Piper, one of the oldest and most intelligent of the sendings. Eimeth puzzled it out, reading aloud for Mirel's benefit, since the scrawl of the sendings bore some getting used to. 

"To Eimeth, Abhorsen, from Adiel, Abhorsen-in-waiting," she read. "I have left Calibe and am traveling south towards the Wall. A summons from a small village there reached me in Calibe so I felt it prudent to reply since I am closer than you are, as I have heard you are visiting the Clayr. The villagers report similar activity as the necromancer I have just defeated; I suspect that there is another, possibly in league with the first one. More details to follow when I have them." Eimeth sighed and crumpled up the message. "It cannot be a coincidence," she said, "that so many petty necromancers are suddenly popping up all over the Kingdom. It is as if Death is easier to get in and out of these days."

"Yes, the Clayr spoke of that quite often," said Mirel. "And the Queen pays no heed to any warning whatsoever, even though the Clayr's Sight is blocked. That in itself bears a heavy warning, but the Queen's messages all say that if they can See nothing then there is nothing to See."

"Do you feel up to looking in the Mirror again?" asked Eimeth. A flicker of fear passed across the girl's face, but she nodded slowly and reached into her pack. She had wrapped the shard in a scrap of black silk after Eimeth had given it to her for safekeeping. 

Wordlessly the girl handed her the sharp piece of glass, and Eimeth, wincing, reopened the cut on her palm, slicing quickly over the scab. She gasped as bright blood welled out, and hastily held the mirror under her hand before the drops could hit the floor and be wasted. Mirel watched for a moment, until the blood had spread outwards over most of the surface, and then took the mirror. 

"How much blood would you need to work the whole Mirror?" she asked quietly, before looking into the surface, and Eimeth shuddered in response. She wrapped the black silk about her palm and sat down, gritting her teeth against the pain. Mirel's eyes danced over the surface of the shard, flitting here and there; once Eimeth got up and looked over her shoulder, but still she saw nothing. In the warm sunlight of her cozy study the mirror did not cast a red glow, but still Mirel's eyes blazed with the crimson reflection. At last the girl looked up and sighed. 

"I saw many things, Abhorsen, but very little that seemed relevant. I looked for necromancers arising, all over the Kingdom, but none were powerful enough to block the Sight of the Clayr."

"Did you see what that was, what blocks their Sight?"

Mirel shook her head. "At least, I do not know what it is. I saw a great cairn, built of rocks on a hill, and I heard the name Kerrigor repeated over and over again. It is this Kerrigor which calls to the necromancers, gives them power that normally they would not have."

"I do not know anything of this Kerrigor, either," said Eimeth. "Did you see any of his plots? What does he mean to do?"

For a long moment the girl paused, and Eimeth saw the crimson fire burn in her eyes once more. "I saw a great underground lake, with Charterstones rearing up from the water. And I saw blood, and men fighting with swords, and a great many Dead walking about the palace. I saw Prince Rogir in a panic, and his brother Torrigan falling in a faint on a flight of stairs."

"This is a grave threat, then," said Eimeth. "I know this underground lake. It is a resevoir beneath the palace, and the Great Charters are there. It is the most powerful repository of Charter Magic that there is."

"I have only been to the palace once," said Mirel. "I didn't see that part of it."

"But we still have many questions," said Eimeth. 

"I think that Prince Rogir may know of some of them," said Mirel softly. "Many times when I asked it who Kerrigor was, it showed me the prince in that same panic. Always the same picture, the prince with his sword drawn and a look of fear on his face."

"Then we shall go to Belisaere, and ask the Prince," said Eimeth. "He is a clearheaded young man, and I believe that he will help us."

Mirel nodded, biting her lip. "There is one more thing, Abhorsen," she said, so quietly that Eimeth had to strain her ears to hear the girl. "Kerrigor knows that it is I who has the other shard. He possesses all the Mirror but that one corner, and he wants it. I could feel him, fighting to block my Sight, the whole time."

"Can he?"

"No. I know enough Charter Magic to use the Mirror to stop him, even though he taints its use with Free Magic." She smiled crookedly and ran a hand through her hair. The gesture, unconscious though it was, had been something that Tallie often did. Eimeth felt her breath catch in her throat, and reminded herself furiously for the twentieth that this was not her daughter. "He knows not who I am, though he strained very hard to find out," added the girl quietly. "I do not think that I will be strong enough to stop him next time, though. His power grows, Abhorsen." 

Eimeth reached out and squeezed the girl's shoulder. Mirel smiled again, the shadows under her eyes deepening. "In the morning we will leave for Belisaere, I think," the Abhorsen murmured. "There is time enough for a good night's sleep." 

_And_, she added silently to herself, _Mother will never let me hear the end of it if I kill another one of her grandchildren_. She bit her tongue on the thought, tasting the metallic tang of blood on her lips, and led her niece downstairs to the kitchens, away from the red-stained mirror and the shadows lurking beneath the glass. 

Tomorrow would be time enough to face the necromancer Kerrigor. The Dead had all the time in the world; it was only the living that need worry about haste. 

*****************

Sorry for the extraordinarily long delay between posts... I can't tell people to hurry up and update any more, because it would be totally hypocritical. Went to college, left the story on the home computer, haven't been able to get to it until now. Hopefully I will be able to finish this soon, since I am copying it onto my laptop so I can work on it. Plus, it's break... hurray for free time! 


	6. A Conspiracy of Sendings

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

***********************

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter Six

A Conspiracy of Sendings

***********************

_Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?  
_  
***********************

Eimeth dreamed that she swam through an icy-cold lake, gripping her sword and bells with blue-tinged fingers. They slowed her down, but still she forced her tired limbs through the cold currents. 

"Mother," said Tallie, splashing ahead of her. "Mother, help me!" Her cry echoed and shattered, dancing around the darkness like a thousand tiny voices weeping. 

She let go of the bells and the sword and turned to catch her daughter's hand, but the girl's fingers slipped right through her own like smoke. Eimeth screamed and kicked herself forward, reaching for Tallie, but her legs would not move fast enough. They dragged her down, pulling her under the water as quickly as an iron anchor. As the water closed in about her face she met Tallie's eyes for a single instant. 

"Goodbye, Mother," said the girl, grinning wickedly, and then the waves took them away, sinking, sinking! Eimeth screamed...

...and sat up in her own bed, hand on her sword and ears ringing. Morning light crept through the curtains, illuminating the familiar room around her. She pinched the bridge of her nose and slid out of bed, gritting her teeth at the touch of the cold floor on her bare feet. The sendings clustered around her; for once she let them do their work without any protest. Listlessly she allowed herself to be guided into a hot bath and then dried and dressed in the traditional midnight-blue surcoat over light chain mail.

The ancient retainer Piper bowed and presented her with a folded note- another messagehawk. "From Adiel?" she murmured, but the sending shook its head and pointed at the note with a stiff finger. 

"To the Abhorsen Eimeth," she read, carefully decrypting Piper's crabbed handwriting, "greetings from Queen Hedalia, ruler of the Old Kingdom, Bearer of the Blood, upholder of the Charter... Really, Piper, if she goes through all her titles you don't have to write them down," Eimeth said to the sending. It gazed at her with Charter-marked eyes, flickering like candle flame in darkness, and shrugged silently. "Titles... Ah, here we are... Grave problems have been occurring here of late, Abhorsen. The Dead flock to the city and will not be driven away. The ancient protections do not stop them, or even give them a moment's pause. No longer do the people of Belisaere feel free to venture outside their houses at night, even in the most well-lighted of streets. Prince Rogir has been keeping up the defenses, but recently he was called away on a matter of diplomatic urgency in Ancelstierre. Our Charter Mages felt certain they could keep the defenses strong while he was away, but they have begun to falter."

Eimeth sighed and read the rest in silence--merely more of the same, it was, just an impassioned plea for assistance. And all the more shameful that the Queen had ignored the threats for this long, if Eimeth judged correctly from the descriptions in the letter. Coincidence that she planned to travel to Belisaere to talk to the Prince today; perhaps he had finally convinced his mother--but no, he was in Ancelstierre. Far to the South. 

And she wondered, suddenly, about her absent apprentice. Calibe was very close to the Wall, and Adiel was very close to Rogir. Did they know something she did not? She bit her bottom lip, crumpling the message in her hands, remembering again Mirel's words of murder and blood, and felt darkness clutch at her heart.

No--she must not think such things. Mirel was only a child, after all, and the mirror must be difficult to interpret. More likely that the girl had made a mistake. She would need Adiel's help in Belisaere; she could not afford to alienate him with suspicion and false assumptions. With that thought she went to her desk and scribbled out a message to the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, telling him that she was setting out for the capital and he was to join her there at once. Piper, bowing, took the message to the aviary, and Eimeth went to wake her niece. 

*****************

Mogget followed her outside to the Paperwing shed, cat-eyes bright in the morning shadows. Eimeth saw him but did not acknowledge his presence as she loaded her supplies back into the painted craft. 

"I will tell you this, Abhorsen," he said softly as she buckled her knapsack firmly into place. "I do not think you should trust your apprentice to stand by your side in Belisaere."

"Why not? Adiel has given me no cause to doubt him," said Eimeth, carefully controlling the tone of her voice. Mogget cocked an ear at her, not fooled in the least. 

"Because, Abhorsen, it strikes me as very suspicious that both he and Prince Rogir should be in Ancelstierre at the same time exactly," replied the little cat. "And especially suspicious that Prince Rogir, who is not trained in necromancy, should be the one to keep the Dead down around Belisaere."

Eimeth licked her lips, suddenly uneasy. "I thought of that," she admitted. "And I do not know what I am walking into, my friend." She tugged her surcoat into place and checked the straps on the bells. "But it is my duty," she told the cat. "As an Abhorsen it is my duty to come to the aid and lay the Dead to rest when they would linger and harm the living."

Mogget did not answer in words, but his gaze left Eimeth chilled and shaken. "Abhorsen," called Mirel from outside the shed, "are you ready?"

"I am," Eimeth shouted back. "I will be out in a moment, dear." 

"Does the walker choose the path?" said Mogget softly. 

"Or does the path choose the walker?" Eimeth whispered, as the cat slunk away, vanishing completely into the darkness of the shed as only cats can do. She grasped the Paperwing's nose and hauled it out into the sunny launch. Mirel, dressed in a rather baggy gray cloak and overcoat, nodded to her and clambered into the second seat. Eimeth nodded to the sendings and hopped in herself, whistling up the windmarks that would lift the Paperwing into the air.

The wind blew from the north today, as yesterday, and the Paperwing struggled to travel against it. Eimeth felt a flicker of wrongness on the wind, like the icy tang of the water of the First Gate. Exactly as her mind formed the thought, Mirel shuddered. The Abhorsen looked over her shoulder at the girl, finding to her surprise that her niece's cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment, as if Eimeth had overheard something she should not. 

"Do you feel that?" asked Mirel. 

"The smell of the Dead upon the wind," murmured Eimeth. "Yes, I do feel that. Something very rotten lurks in the north." 

"It's coming from both directions," said Mirel. "A sort of coldness to the south, and a sort of moldy feeling from the north."

Eimeth cast about with an Abhorsen's special sensibilities and found that the girl was right. She shouldn't be, though; only the Abhorsen--or a trained necromancer--should be able to feel such a thing. 

But she did not have time to think about it, for at that moment the wind picked up, battering at the sides of the fragile Paperwing. Eimeth tasted Free Magic in the tang of the wind and swore loudly before casting into the Charter for the whistled wind-marks. 

Wind-magic, however, was not among her specialties, and while she knew enough to steady the Paperwing in most weather, this was beyond her. Keeping up a barrage against the howling wind, Eimeth began to descend. She felt the malice in the scream of the currents as they slipped below its reach, heading into a thick copse of trees. 

The wind got one last blow in, though; summoning all its rage, it flew at the Paperwing, completely throwing off the landing angle and tossing both riders out into the branches of a tall oak. Eimeth tumbled through the branches, cracking them beneath her as she fell, barely able to grasp at the limbs in hopes of slowing her fall. A hefty thump took the breath out of her when she landed; a sharp crack in her left forearm sent a lancing pain up through her shoulder, and for a long moment she simply lay on the hard ground, choking and shivering. Her bandolier pressed into her chest, the hard edges of the bells biting into her sore ribs. 

The sound of bells--not her own--brought her back to herself. Still coughing, she looked up with bleary eyes to see Mirel firmly ringing Kibeth and Saraneth together in a complicated pattern. Before her the shape of a Mordicant writhed in agony on the ground. Mirel, the Charter mark on her forehead blazing, lifted her chin proudly as the Mordicant shriveled and vanished; Eimeth felt it pass into death and float quickly away, carried by the strong current of the First Precinct. 

"Aunt," said the girl, her tone sharp and concerned. She rushed over to the fallen Abhorsen and lifted her from the ground into a sitting position, careful not to jostle the swelling arm. Eimeth, biting her lip against the pain, could not help but cry out as Mirel touched it gingerly, trying to see where the damage was. 

"Where did you get the bells?" said Eimeth as soon as she could speak. Mirel looked up at her, tenderly pulling a silver and blue sleeve away from the Abhorsen's injured arm. 

"I should find our packs," was all Mirel said. "I made the sendings pack medical supplies." Eimeth cradled the broken arm in her lap as the girl rushed off into the woods, looking for the wreckage of the Paperwing. With her good arm she pulled out her sword, fearful that where one Mordicant stalked another did as well. 

_A trap_, her mind said, as her befuddled brain tried to make sense of what had just happened. _A trap to make you fall, and hurt yourself, where some Dead thing could get you while you were defenseless_. 

She had no doubt this was the same necromancer who had sent the Gore Crow days earlier, or the one who kept Belisaere besieged. She had no doubt of this; what did cause her wonder, though, was Mirel. Where had the girl gotten those bells? How did she know how to use them? It was no easy thing to be able to banish a Mordicant, no easy thing at all. Eimeth, mind fogged with pain, could not make any sense of the facts, and so they simply swirled randomly around her mind until Mirel returned, both Eimeth's and her own packs slung over her shoulder. 

"I suppose you are wondering about a few things, Abhorsen," said the girl calmly, laying out bandages and straight sticks for a splint. 

Eimeth met her eyes, finding no shame in them, only confidence and, curiously enough, a sense of relief. "You could say that," she said, gritting her teeth as Mirel bound the splint tightly around her swollen arm. 

"Years and years ago the sendings of your House presented me with a book. A curious, old, deadly book." Mirel paused and looked at the shadows of the woods and the clouds overhead. "It told me of Mordicants and Shadow Hands and Gore Crows, all sorts of Dead things, and what to do in between. I read it, cover to cover, and the day I left the sendings took it away again. I must have been, oh, eleven or twelve. I only visited your house two times after that, never when you were there, but every time the sendings gave me the Book of the Dead to read. Every time I read it front to back and every time the Book was different." Finding a spare shirt in one of the packs, Mirel ripped it apart and tied the pieces into a sling. 

"This morning the sendings presented me with bells and the surcoat of the Abhorsen," the girl continued. She pulled the gray cloak off, revealing the blue silk and silver keys below. Across her chest a bandolier of bells lay; it was not the light, tan leather of Eimeth's or the rich brown of Adiel's. Instead, Mirel's bandolier was deep, dark black, sewn with silver threads, the bell cases buckled with shining silver buttons. Eimeth knew it as well as she knew her own: it was her grandfather's bandolier, set aside these many years. She had been saving it for her own daughter and could not bear giving it to Adiel, crafting instead a brand-new bandolier and set of bells for his use. 

To see it now, across the shoulders of her niece who so resembled Tallie--it was more than Eimeth could bear. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Mirel's own eyes widened. "I am sorry," she said. "I expected that you would name me Abhorsen-in-Waiting because Grandmother always said the sendings knew the next Abhorsen. She--I don't think she knew--I don't think anyone knew--that they had been giving me the Book to read."

"And I expected it to be Tallie," said Eimeth numbly, voice thick with grief. "Talis always said they Saw Tallie as the Abhorsen-in-Waiting... And then she died and the Clayrs Saw Adiel..." 

Mirel shook her head. "I know. But you have said it yourself," she whispered. "The resemblance between us is uncanny. Could it not be that the Clayr Saw me?"

Eimeth closed her eyes and leaned back against the rough tree-bark, sighing for a long moment before opening them again. "Why would they then See Adiel?"

"Because the necromancer--this Kerrigor--wanted him in place as Abhorsen," said Mirel. She clasped Eimeth's good hand in her own, gently pulling her aunt to her feet. "Because if he can stop the visions of the Clayr he might be able to control them as well. The sendings know. They always know. Did they present Adiel with bells and a surcoat?"

Eimeth remembered back to his assignation of Abhorsen-in-Waiting and said, "No. I did that, in the Royal Palace, when he was appointed."

Mirel's voice was bitter. "The sendings always know--but the Abhorsen herself does not." She looked up at the sky and then down at the map. "We have a good two days' journey to Belisaere. Are you up to it?"

"I am sorry, Mirel," whispered Eimeth. "I did not know."

The girl's face only hardened, but she sighed and took out the glass shard of the Mirror of Dyrim. "I know. I think this plan has been in place for much longer than we believed. You cannot blame yourself, when so many things called you away from home and family." Shouldering both packs, the glass shard clutched in her hand, she set off northwards without another word. 

Stunned at this similarity of opinion between Mirel and Eimeth's own mother, the Abhorsen did not respond. She followed the girl, trying to ignore the dull, throbbing ache of her arm, as they trekked out of the forests and northwards towards Belisaere, towards Kerrigor and Death. 

*************** 


	7. Dreams in the Mirror

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them. 

*********************

CHARTERSTONE

Chapter Seven

Dreams in the Mirror

*********************

_Abhorsen, come! Abhorsen, go!  
Ring and send and build and grow!  
Where the Dead would lie awake  
Crush them down! Bind and break!_

*********************

Walking north, neither the Abhorsen or her niece spoke. The pain in Eimeth's arm kept her mind unfocused and murky, fogged with visions of Mirel and Tallie and Adiel, all somehow turned into one. She felt very old and foolish. At the same time, she felt like an errant child scolded by its mother. Mirel led the way, acting the adult, oddly reversing their roles. 

Far above their heads both of them felt Gore Crows searching for them, but never did the Dead things get close enough to see them. Mirel held the shard of Dyrim's Mirror in her hand the whole time, keeping the other perched atop the long sword that had also been Eimeth's grandfather's. Still red with Eimeth's blood from the last time, the Abhorsen wondered if Mirel was Seeing something in the shard. Perhaps, and perhaps not. She did not know, and when she tried to garner enough courage to ask, one look at the back of the girl's head stopped the words in her throat. 

When the last rays of the sun had nearly gone down over the horizon, Mirel halted on the bank of a wide, deep stream. "We should stop here," she said softly. "There's a little island out there. The running water will help protect us." She did not add _from the Dead_ but Eimeth knew perfectly well what she meant. 

A tree limb had fallen from the bank to the island, and they crossed on that, Mirel steadying her aunt's stumbling feet with a sturdy arm. Eimeth cleared a spot to camp while Mirel pulled the makeshift bridge all the way onto the island, so nothing else could cross. 

"Sit down," said the girl, brushing off her hands as she came back to the campsite. "You're injured."

"I'll be all right," said Eimeth shortly. 

"No, you won't," said Mirel, and her tone brooked no argument. Eimeth surrendered to the weariness sweeping over her bones and lay down on the soft moss carpeting the little island. Mirel busied herself, rummaging through the packs for any food, though there was little more than emergency supplies since neither of them had expected to have a two-day trek to Belisaere. She handed a packet of hardbread to Eimeth and took one for herself, and they sat together, listening to the woods around them rustle and the brook gurgle. 

"I am sorry," said Eimeth after a long while. 

She saw Mirel's head turn towards her, silhouetted against the starry sky. But the girl did not speak. 

"I should have watched more carefully what the Clayr saw. They showed me, you know. And I saw a girl dressed in exactly what you are wearing now, with exactly the same bells and sword. I believed it to be Tallie. Perhaps it was, at that time, because she too read the Book of the Dead and knew the workings of the bells. But she only knew a little; I was too--too motherly, I suppose--to teach her very much, because I wanted her to be a child still and not grow up too quickly." Eimeth sighed and clenched both fists, ignoring the pain that shot up her left arm. "I do not know what is right. I will take you as Abhorsen in-Waiting if that is what you wish, and if Adiel was Seen correctly, then I will take you both, and that is all I can promise."

Mirel sighed too, and did not answer until Eimeth had nearly dropped off to sleep. "Do you find it odd, aunt," she said quietly, "that Rogirek said backwards is Kerrigor?"

*********************

They were up and gone from the little island before the sun rose the next morning, hurrying northwards. Eimeth's head had cleared with the night's rest, albeit short and troubled, and they made much better time than they had the day before. 

"No one but Rogir could keep up the defenses," fumed Eimeth as they crashed through the forest. Her head was clear now, but the pain in her arm made her sharp. And the clues she had missed made her all the more angry. "Of course not! He is our necromancer, he is our Dead sorcerer that gives power to all these petty little necromancers that keep popping up. He only summons the Dead when he leaves the city, that's why!"

"I looked in the Mirror last night after you fell asleep," said Mirel. "He is coming north very quickly. He knew I was watching and so I could not get too much, but if we hurry we will reach Belisaere only a little after him."

"What does he have in mind?" growled Eimeth. "Why did he go to Ancelstierre? Why did Adiel go to join him? That must be where he is... By the Charter! Lies and treachery, from everyone!"

"Not everyone," said Mirel. "Not everyone lies. You were merely blinded by trickery. You can still stop him."

"If we knew what he was doing, maybe," said Eimeth. "I wish we could get a message to Belisaere. Warn them. But we have no way of doing so."

Mirel only shrugged and redoubled her pace, leaving the Abhorsen to scramble after her in a most undignified fashion. 

They stopped at a small farming village at midday. Eimeth sent Mirel to buy food and went herself to the blacksmith's forge. She met the girl back at the town fountain, leading two old but still-strong mares. "Can you ride?" she asked her niece. 

"Only a little," said Mirel, gazing up at the horse with wide eyes. "Is this really faster?"

"We'll be to Belisaere by tonight if we ride instead of walk," said Eimeth shortly. Her black mood had not dissipated. The pain in her arm did not help, either. She stood on the fountain to mount the gray mare, leaving the smaller black to Mirel. Her arm jiggled up and down with every step the horse took, but she bit her lip and ignored the pain. Mirel watched her ride around the fountain with narrowed eyes. 

"For the Kingdom, I suppose," said the girl, and clumsily mounted the black mare. Eimeth smiled at the look on Mirel's face when the horse began to follow the gray, walking with a bouncing step. 

"Here. Hold the reins like this," she said, showing her niece how, "only you do it with both hands. Gently pull in the direction you want to go and the horse will go that way. Hold on with your knees if we gallop, but I think we'll make good enough time without that. It would tire the horses out too quickly in any case." Mirel nodded, gripping the reins so hard her knuckles turned white. 

Despite her misgivings she caught on quick enough, at least to settle into the rhythm of the horse's trot. Eimeth, though long accustomed to the saddle, found it difficult to keep her head upright. The pain in her arm doubled and redoubled until fire shot from fingertip to shoulder. Still she said nothing, feeling more and more of the cold chill of Death as they neared Belisaere. Mirel reined in the black mare as they rode over the crest of the hill around the city. 

Below them, sparkling in the twilight, the lights of Belisaere glittered as brightly as the darkening sky above. Eimeth squinted but she could see little of the people in the city--even from here, though, she felt the Dead straining against the poorly-cast spells of the Charter mages within. Mirel shuddered, sensing the same presence, and laid her hand on the hilt of her sword. 

"What shall we do, aunt?" she asked softly. Though her chin and shoulders were straight and proud, black against the red and orange sunset, the girl's voice shook. A tiny quaver, a mere tremble, but the fear was there. 

Eimeth heard it and disdained to comment. When she replied, her own voice remained steady and strong, but if she had let it show the same fear would have crept out. "We go in through the gates to the west. As we go, we will reinforce the Charterspells to keep out the Dead. Keep your wits about you. I will do the spells, but you must cover us from anything that tries to attack."

She reached over and gripped Mirel's shoulder with her good arm. "You will be all right, child. We are Abhorsen. Whatever happens, we will be strong." Carefully Eimeth pulled her sword from its scabbard and handed it to Mirel, who gazed wide-eyed at the Charter marks flickering along its length. "I won't be able to use it, so you take the better sword. Once we are inside the city walls we will go to the Queen and have her rally the army. When Kerrigor arrives we will be ready for him."

Eimeth, privately, admitted that live soldiers against Dead ones would not be a happy battle, but what else could she do? Mirel rendered the idea useless, in any case, by remarking, "Do you feel the chill to the south? Kerrigor will be here in mere hours. We do not have time to mass the army." Mirel shivered. "I think I should not have looked in the Mirror. It just made him hurry."

The Abhorsen cursed; she had missed the cold tang of the Free Magic and Death in her concentration upon Belisaere. And once Mirel pointed it out, she wondered how she could have missed it, the coldness loomed so greatly on the southern horizon. "It is not your fault. I think this thing is quick no matter what," she said, staring south into the dark hills. 

It moved quickly indeed, far more quickly than any living thing. It was nearly upon them, in fact; only a few miles separated the Abhorsen from the necromancer. As darkness fell completely she could see it: a pale white fog that covered everything in its path. 

"We must go now, then," said Eimeth, wheeling the gray mare around. "Forget the Charterspells. Just get to the palace!" 

Mirel's shout echoed her own as the two horses reared, and then galloped headlong toward the city, the silver fog racing along behind them, devouring all in its path. 

Kerrigor was coming...

****************

Sorry, I intended to get this chapter out a lot sooner, but real life keeps getting in the way. It's really hard to write when you have appendicitis and spend a week with stomach pains and then two days in the hospital, which is basically how I spent New Year's. Happy 2004, eh? Good lord. Anyway, I'm mostly better so look for updates somewhat more frequently. 


	8. Here at the End of All Things

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
CHARTERSTONE  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Here at the End of All Things  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
_The Dead may screech, the Dead may wail   
But know this, child, that without fail  
Though some things may seek to wait  
All must pass beyond the gate._  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
They reached the city ahead of the fog, but only just ahead. Mirel's face was white in the darkening twilight as she gripped the horse's reins, trying not fall off. Eimeth gritted her teeth and tried to give the girl a reassuring look, but she was having enough trouble keeping herself on the horse. The pain in her arm, redoubled by the jostling gait of the horse beneath her, was distracting her more than she had thought it would.  
  
There was nothing to do but put up with it, so she bit her lip and put up with it, although a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead by the time they reached the palace. They had strengthened the Charter-spells as they passed, but still Eimeth felt the chill of the Dead all around the city. Along the west gate the spells held; but those at the other gates were dangerously close to failing.  
  
The gate-guards recognized her and waved them through to the palace proper. Eimeth reined in the horse and dismounted, struggling to keep her wits about her. Mirel let out a breath of relief as the guards took the horses for them. "Let's find the Queen," said Eimeth, setting off across the courtyard with the girl trotting in her wake. By the time they had reached the door to the Great Hall the white fog had reached the castle gates.  
  
Kerrigor was no longer coming... he was here...  
  
Eimeth bit her lip again, so hard it bled, and barred the door behind them. A servant dashed up to her and cried, "Oh, Abhorsen, what's happening?"  
  
"We are under attack by a powerful necromancer called Kerrigor," said Eimeth impatiently. "Where is the Queen? I must speak with her at once."  
  
"She's gone down to the Great Stones," said the servant nervously. "So she'll be safe from whatever that thing is out there."  
  
"All right," said Eimeth slowly. "That's a safe enough place for now. What about the rest of the royal family? Where are the princesses?"  
  
"They're all down there," said the servant. "Prince Rogirek said they should all go down to the stones. All the daughters and the Queen and everyone."  
  
Eimeth's insides turned to ice. "What?" she whispered, and did not stay to hear the servant's answer, taking off at a dead run towards the steps that led down to the Great Stones.  
  
"Abhorsen?" cried Mirel, pelting after her. Eimeth did not stop as she tore through the palace and down, down, down to the reservoir.  
  
She didn't reach it. A dark shape flew from an alcove and tackled her around the ankles, throwing her to the ground and sending a bolt of white- hot fire up her broken arm. She screamed before she could bite back the sound. Mirel skidded a stop and tumbled over both of them, her cry of surprise abruptly cut off as her head met the flagstones with sharp thud.  
  
A pair of hands scrabbled at Eimeth's throat; furiously she fought back, but one-handed she could not overpower her attacker. "What are you doing, Adiel?" she cried.  
  
The Abhorsen-in-Waiting grinned down at her, his eyes wild and half-crazed. "I wasn't going to come," he said. "But Mogget insisted. Said you needed me. Said you were going to Belisaere."  
  
"Necromancer," hissed Eimeth, bringing her knee up hard into the back of his leg and furiously flipping him away from her. "You are no Abhorsen."  
  
"You think I care anything for that?" screamed Adiel, leaping to his feet and advancing on the kneeling Abhorsen. Out of the corner of her eye Eimeth saw Mirel stir. Adiel drew his sword with a long, rasping scrape, pushing a tangle of red curls out of his eyes. Eimeth struggled to stand up, struggled to do anything to get away, but he had her by the hair before she could summon enough strength to act. With a growl he forced back her head and drew his sword lightly along her throat, not hard enough to break the skin.  
  
She swallowed convulsively, and he laughed. "It was so easy, dear Abhorsen. You had the wrong apprentice twice. Poor little Mirel, always overlooked... even we thought Tallie was the right one for a while. But then I didn't think she'd ever come forward when we did discover our mistake, and of course, who would have believed her when the Clayr saw me? It's a very good thing to have powerful friends, cousin, a very good thing indeed." He pressed the sword harder into the unprotected skin of her neck, and Eimeth closed her eyes, unable to look upon the face. "No Ninth Gate for you, Abhorsen. You shall serve my master as the very thing you strive to put to rest—the Dead."  
  
But the stroke never came. Eimeth felt his grip on her hair release and she tumbled backwards, opening her eyes to behold a gruesome sight. Mirel, her eyes blazing, was behind Adiel with her sword thrust right through his torso, from the small of his back to his stomach. With a shriek he fell forward; Eimeth scooted away just in time and gaped in shock as the former Abhorsen-in-Waiting thudded onto the floor next to her.  
  
"He's not dead," said Mirel, breathing hard. She pulled the sword from his gut and held out a hand to her aunt.  
  
"It's all right. One less Dead Hand for Kerrigor to use," said Eimeth, standing up with a grunt of pain. "We must get down to the reservoir." They took off through the halls again, going as fast as they could, leaving Adiel crumpled on the floor behind them.  
  
"I've never done anything like that," said Mirel, panting as they strode through the halls. A lump was already rising from her temple, but Eimeth took far more notice of the girl's tone. From what she had seen over the past few days, Mirel was one of the most self-assured young women she had ever met.  
  
"It is sometimes necessary, especially in this particular business," said Eimeth, trying, in all honesty, not to think of it, because a surge of anger and loss swept through her every time she did.  
  
A tear ran down the girl's cheek. "I know," she said, sounding much younger than she was. "It's just... some of this is instinctive. And everything I've been doing is really luck... I didn't know if I could banish that Mordicant. I was thanking my lucky stars that I managed it the whole day yesterday. Do you think we can defeat Kerrigor?"  
  
"I don't know, to be perfectly honest," said Eimeth, suddenly angry without really knowing why. "I don't ever know! I might go after some Dead thing and every time it could be my last. Every Dead creature might be the one that finally trips me up and sends me past the Ninth Gate at last. I don't know, Mirel. All we can do is fight it. That is our job. And that is all we can do."  
  
Mirel did not answer, and Eimeth sighed, wishing for the first time in her life that she was not the Abhorsen. She broke into a run again, gritting her teeth against the pain of her arm, and they finally reached the stairs to the reservoir.  
  
Both of them felt that something was terribly, terribly wrong as soon as they began the descent. Nausea swept through the Abhorsen's stomach and she fought to keep from retching. Mirel looked no better, her face completely white and the bruise on her forehead shining red in the light of the torches along the wall. About halfway down a scream echoed up to them, ringing on and on without ending. Eimeth quickened her pace and took the rest of the steps four at a time, retrieving bells as she went. Saraneth rang in concert with Kibeth in a one-handed pattern, doubled by Mirel, drowning the echo of the terrible scream.  
  
She saw Rogir—Kerrigor—standing over the bastard prince Torrigan. Eimeth could feel the corrosion within the Prince and gagged, splashing into the water and furiously wading towards them. All of a sudden Torrigan's face seemed to come alive; he broke from the thrall Kerrigor had over him and stared up at the stairway in horror. Eimeth, still ringing the bells, never breaking the rhythm, risked a look back and saw Adiel, soaked with blood, standing there with a column of white fire behind him. "Abhorsen!" cried Adiel, grinning crazily as he swayed. "The Mogget is loose!" With a grunt he fell forward, and she felt the life leave his body.  
  
Eimeth snarled in fury and ripped the binding ring from her finger. Of all the inconvenient things to happen! "Mirel! Get Torrigan!" she screamed, feeling the ring grow behind her back. This would be difficult, terribly difficult, with only hand to manipulate both bell and ring. She swallowed hard and looked up at the white-hot thing advancing upon her. Somewhere behind her she heard Mirel shouting and Kerrigor screaming again.  
  
"The blood price must be paid!" screamed Mogget. "He's a good-hearted Abhorsen, that one—he released me at last!"  
  
"Hardly," said Eimeth. "There's a trick that he never knew. You think I cannot bind you again? I can!"  
  
A breath of fire swooped out from the Mogget-thing and knocked her back into the water. She gulped liquid instead of air and came up coughing desperately as the pillar of fire leapt for her—but she was ready—and the expanding ring, now like a silver hoop, came flying up and over, catching Mogget just as he careened into her. They both fell into the water, Mogget snarling and tearing at her with suddenly-grown cat claws. She tried to ring Saraneth, but the bell was distorted underwater, and did nothing.  
  
"It's too late, Abhorsen!" screamed Mogget as they surged up from the water once more. But her hand was free, and she rang Saraneth as loudly as she could, hoping it would be enough. Mogget fell back, coughing and choking, and at last a sodden ball of fur clawed its way up to her shoulder. She caught the binding ring with her bad hand just before it fell into the water, wincing at the movement, and slipped it back onto her finger.  
  
Nothing would be more welcome at the moment then to just sink into the water and never get up, but she couldn't. She heard Mirel scream and whirled around to see Kerrigor raising a bloody sword over the girl, who was half-laying on the barge, clutching the unconscious Torrigan.  
  
Eimeth reacted so fast she hardly knew what was happening. Charter Marks, great master marks even she had never before dared to use, aligned themselves on her tongue and flew towards the shivering girl. Dimly she registered that something was awry with the prince, but she could not determine what, because as the Charter Marks reached the two they shone with a bright glow and then disappeared into thin air. Eimeth knew where they had gone, but Kerrigor did not,, and could not follow.  
  
Kerrigor screamed his fury. His servants, necromancers in black robes, Shadow Hands and Dead Hands, flanked him on either side; bile rose in Eimeth's throat as she took a step backward. She could see the bodies of the princesses floating in the water, their faces ghastly white and frozen in a look of surprise.  
  
"So, Abhorsen, you've fouled my plans," said Kerrigor, coming closer to her. She could feel Free Magic pouring from him in waves. This was not his real body; this was a construct, a mere shell to hold his spirit. Her heart sank, knowing that victory would not be possible without that real body.  
  
"You left too many clues," said Eimeth, hoping to stall while she racked her brains, trying to think of something to do.  
  
She knew what must happen—but she did not want to do it.  
  
He held up a shining piece of glass. "I have been laying this in motion for years!" he screamed. "Dyrim's Mirror... Adiel... we had to have everything right. But we underestimated you!" He threw down the shard of glass. "That is a mistake I shall not make again. Ready the Stone," he said to his servants, coming towards Eimeth.  
  
"To think, an Abhorsen who hates her life, who is plagued by petty concerns and feelings of inadequacy...you could have been powerful, more powerful than even I am now. Do you miss your daughter, Abhorsen? Adiel killed her on my command. And now I shall kill you, and you can be with her, knowing that your blood broke the next stone."  
  
"Go, Mogget," whispered Eimeth, lifting her bad arm from the water and resting it on the soggy bell-bandolier.  
  
He paused a second, still clinging to her shoulder, and said, "Good luck, Abhorsen." Then he was gone, a white streak up the stairs, and Eimeth was alone with Kerrigor and his servants.  
  
"I loved my daughter," said Eimeth sadly, looking at the broken bodies of the Queen's daughters. "She was my light, and you took her from me. Do you think that I can allow you to ruin more lives this way? You are Dead, Kerrigor. And it is the Abhorsen's job to lay the Dead to rest!"  
  
With one smooth movement she flipped Saraneth into her bad hand and drew Astarael, the largest of the bells, from its pouch. And without heeding Kerrigor, as he rushed towards her, she rang the bell hard and fast, then brought Saraneth into the mix and sounded both at once. The necromancers went first with a scream of horror, tumbling down the river of Death and out of sight. The Queen and her daughters were waiting on the other side, and bowed to Eimeth before they too were swept away by the current.  
  
Kerrigor held longest, fighting against the bells. "I will find a way to return," he growled, finally turning away. He fought her every step of the way, and when he was finally deep within Death Eimeth let go herself, slipping into the river with a sigh of relief. She closed her eyes and merely floated, feeling herself drift deeper and deeper.  
  
At the last she opened her eyes and fell upwards into black oblivion, the stars glimmering like tiny points of fire in the heavens. The river dropped away, the howling Dead trying to hold to life quieted, and for the very first time in a long, long while, Eimeth felt at peace.  
  
A hand gripped hers; the other smoothed back her hair, and a pair of lips gently touched her cheek, and a soft voice said, "Welcome home, Mother. Welcome home."  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
I wrote this ages ago and never posted it until now. Very sorry about that... there's a little epilogue, too, so keep an eye out. I will finish it up and post it soon. 


	9. Epilogue

The concept of the Abhorsen and related characters belongs to Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them.  
  
CHARTERSTONE  
  
Epilogue  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
_The Clayr saw me, the Wallmaker made me, the King quenched me, the Abhorsen wields me so that no Dead shall walk in life.  
  
For this is not their path._  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
"She's bound him back for now."  
  
"Not forever, though."  
  
"No. Not forever."  
  
Talis looked at the young Abhorsen, standing proud and straight against the breeze from the ocean. They looked out over the Sea of Saere, the great boom chain glinting in the sunlight. The city had not escaped unscathed; even now the cityfolk walked among the ruins, picking out what they could save from the rubble left by the servants of Kerrigor.  
  
"Why did they go south?" asked Talis.  
  
"I don't know," replied Mirel, pushing her black hair from her face. "I suspect there was a reason, though. I think it is part of the reason Eimeth could not fully bind him. He is one of the Greater Dead now. His power will grow."  
  
"We have seen that the Kingdom will not be as it once was," said Talis solemnly, gazing out to sea. "There will come decline, and darkness, and at the end of all things the Abhorsen will once more stand alone as Eimeth did."  
  
Mirel traced the shape of the largest bell, the one necromancer and Abhorsen feared to use, and wondered if she would have had the courage to do what was necessary. She did not know. She hoped she would never have occasion to find out.  
  
"What happened to the Prince?" asked the Clayr, following the path of Mirel's fingers with her eyes.  
  
"She did a spell that flung us away from Kerrigor," said the Abhorsen. "She flung us to Holehallow, the great burial ground of the First Blood."  
  
"But where is Torrigan? He must come forth to take up the throne. There is no other."  
  
"No!" said Mirel sharply, catching the gentle Clayr by surprise. She bit her lip and then relaxed, shaking her head. "No. The Abhorsen can break the Great Charters... but the Abhorsen can also protect herself. He can break the Stones with Torrigan's blood, the poor fool. The bastard prince had no idea of his brother's plot. He is a fool, and no more. Once Kerrigor is defeated we shall reinstate the kingdom. Until then he will remain hidden—and safe."  
  
"I do not think the prince is such a fool as you say," said Talis quietly, her eyes staring into nothingness. "And the day will come for him." Mirel gazed at the Clayr until the woman closed her eyes and then smiled kindly at her cousin.  
  
"It will only get worse," said Mirel.  
  
"But you will be ready for it," replied Talis.  
  
"I am Abhorsen," said Mirel plainly. "Where others of the necromantic art raise the dead, I lay them back to rest. And those that will not rest, I will bind." She smiled back at her cousin and turned away from the sea, and the wind caught her surcoat, setting ablaze the keys emblazoned in silver thread on a field of midnight blue.  
  
As she went, she turned and nodded once more. "I am Abhorsen," she said again, and continued down the slope. Talis stayed a moment longer, looking to the horizon. She saw a black-haired young woman dressed in the regalia of the Abhorsen, but it was not Mirel, and the kingdom this girl fought to save was very different than the present one. Talis wondered when—if—this would come to pass, and sighed. How imprecise was the Clayr's art...  
  
As the sun set, she turned and hurried down the hill, shivering as twilight descended on the Old Kingdom.  
  
:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:  
  
This is the beginning...and Sabriel is the end. 


End file.
